


Memories left behind

by CherryBlossomLesbian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Gen, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, kinda a vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryBlossomLesbian/pseuds/CherryBlossomLesbian
Summary: He stumbled backwards, momentarily losing his balance not only because this specific memory was so vivid, but because he had seen the man he'd just murdered before.In a picture, that was framed, that sat on Sam's nightstand.Sam never said much about the man- just that they were friends, best friends, and he had died.Bucky knew better than to pry, so he just left it alone.He didn't mention that The Winter Soldier killed him.Which meant Sam didn't know.Fuck.~~~~~~~TRIGGER WARNING: This work contains a suicide attempt, cutting, self harm, and blood.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson
Kudos: 45





	Memories left behind

**Author's Note:**

> Another trigger warning, please do no read if a suicide attempt or self harm is a trigger. 
> 
> I've had this in my drafts for about a month, was mostly written as a vent fic, I just touched a few things up and rushed the end for posting.

The best part of remembering was the euphoric feeling of control that rushed over him. 

The worst part of remembering was remembering. 

The memories were staggered- sometimes they would come daily for a few days, and sometimes there'd be nothing for months.

Bucky wasn't sure which one he preferred. 

He was in the apartment alone when he remembered this time. 

The phantom feeling of the machine on his face clicked into place, and then the memories, frames and stills crashing into him like he was hit by a speeding car. 

He stumbled backwards, momentarily losing his balance not only because this specific memory was so vivid, but because he had seen the man he'd just murdered before. 

In a picture, that was framed, that sat on Sam's nightstand. 

Sam never said much about the man- just that they were friends, best friends, and he had died.  
Bucky knew better than to pry, so he just left it alone. 

He didn't mention that The Winter Soldier killed him. 

Which meant Sam didn't know.

Fuck. 

~~~~~~~

Riley. 

That was his name. 

Bucky stared at the picture, looking at Riley with a sick sense of guilt and horror. 

Him and Sam were just starting to become friends, be on good terms after everything the universe threw at them. They were roommates, originally not by their choice but they figured out it worked. 

And his roommate had killed his best friend. 

He had to tell Sam- he learned a long time ago hiding what he did as The Winter Soldier never went over well. 

Bucky didn't know why his mind snapped- it was something deep in him, had been lurking for years but decided to jump out when he was at the most vulnerable. 

You should do it. 

Bucky's movements were jerky as he obeyed his mind's urges. 

He grabbed a knife out of the sink, sharp and shiny and exactly what satisfied him at the moment. 

He also grabbed a pen and paper, leaning against the countertop to scribble out a quick note. 

"I'm sorry, Sam. I killed Riley."

Despite its purpose, it wasn't a suicide note. Too brief and it didn't necessarily say any of his feelings. But it would do, at least give Sam closure on Riley's death and so he could understand why Bucky did it. 

Bucky stalked to the bathroom, eyeing the clock that read 9:43 pm. Sam never comes home before eleven. 

He'll be gone by the time Sam gets here. 

He shut the door, and locked it. He left the note on the sink countertop, sat on the cold floor, and gripped the knife handle tight in his metal arm. 

He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, looking at the pale skin. 

Then he moved the knife and let it dig in until scarlett droplets began to run down his arm and onto his wrist. 

Then he repeated. 

He knew, logically, there were quicker, better ways to commit suicide. 

But this was the most painful he could think of, and the most painful death is what he deserves. 

The front door slammed shut at the same time the blade went back into his skin. 

"Bucky?" 

Fuck. 

He had to go faster. 

He began to cut more sporadically, the cuts not going as deep and sometimes not even drawing any blood, but he wasn't thinking properly. He just needed the pain. He deserved the pain. 

He heard footsteps, seemingly headed for Bucky's bedroom but instead stopped at the closed bathroom door.

"Bucky?" Sam asked, knocking on the wood of the bathroom door. 

The blood was pooling on the ground, but he knew it wasn’t enough. He was lightheaded, the world beginning to spin.

"Bucky?" Sam's voice grew panicked, the knocking turning into pounding and Bucky was overcome with alarm when the door suddenly came crashing down and Sam came into view. 

"Bucky!" He shouted, kicking the ruined door out of the way and crouching down next to Bucky, grabbing the towel off the rack and pressing it insistently to Bucky's arm, the white cotton quickly being taken over by crimson. 

"Hang in there buddy, you're going to be okay." Sam whispered, but Bucky knew they were empty promises. He'd wish Bucky was dead when he learned the truth. 

"I killed Riley." He managed to spit out, unsure if Sam even heard it. 

Sam's eyes grew wide. 

Bucky uncurled his metal fist that was holding the knife, and held it out for Sam to take. To finish the job. 

Sam took the knife without hesitation, looking at it with laser-focused eyes. 

Bucky closed his eyes and waited for the final blow. 

"This is dirty. Come on, we gotta clean you up." Sam said, placing the knife on the counter next to the unread note and tried to help Bucky to stand. 

"W-what?" He stuttered out, taken aback by the fact he wasn't dead and Sam didn't have a murderous look in his eyes. 

"The knife is dirty. We need to wash the cuts or you'll get an infection." Sam said matter of factly, finally managing to get Bucky on his feet, helping him to walk by placing a hand on his shoulder and keeping the towel firmly on the cuts. 

Sam helped Bucky on top of the kitchen counter, and Bucky winced as the towel was removed. 

Sam turned on the tap, putting his hand under the stream to test the temperature. His clothes were starting to become stained with blood just as Bucky’s were, and the water ran down Sam’s sleeve, soaking the fabric. 

“Lemme know if this is too cold.” Sam said, ever-aware of Bucky’s not excellent relationship with the cold. 

Sam grabbed Bucky’s arm gently, noticing how the blood had mostly stopped by now, only a few of the larger cuts beading droplets. 

The water was warmer than he expected it to be when it touched his skin, and it stung madly. It wasn’t the good sting that he usually got when he was in this mood- it was far from his first time cutting, he had just always had a voice in the back of his head that told him to stop before it got too close to the end before. 

It was painful, and it was cruel, and just made tears form in his eyes. 

“I know. Just a little longer. Sepsis would hurt much worse.” Sam attempted to soothe as Bucky tried his hardest to hold back his tears. 

When the tap turned off, the pounding in his head moved to the forefront of his mind. 

"Migraine?" Sam raised an eyebrow when Bucky's brow creased slightly in agony. 

"...yeah." Bucky admitted, quietly, eyes darting as Sam moved from kitchen cabinet to kitchen cabinet looking for a few things. 

Sam came back to where Bucky was sitting with some sort of medical cream, bandages, and a small pill. 

Bucky took the pill without being prompted. 

That was also the thing about remembering- for a little while after, when something was given to him or anything resembling an order was said, it was an automatic reaction. Take the pill, open his mouth, comply. 

He assumed it was a painkiller- wasn't going to ask, anyway. Sam just gave him a look, like he wanted to question Bucky on the auto-pliot movement but decided against it. 

Sam warmed the cream in his hands before grabbing Bucky's slightly-damp arm gingerly, putting on way too much cream than necessary since most of the cuts were completely closed up. They still left a nasty white line on his skin and were red around the affected area. 

Sam took the bandages and began wrapping the roll around his arm, setting the cream further into Bucky's skin to heal the skin so it hopefully wouldn't leave a scar. There were already a lot of scars lining that arm, but he'd rather not have any more. 

"All done." Sam finally said, letting Bucky's arm fall limp at his side. 

"What do you want to drink?" He asked, way too upbeat after bandaging his roommate's self harm cuts. 

"Not thirsty." Bucky lied. 

"Juice it is then." Sam replied, pulling a large carton of apple juice out of the fridge and grabbing a glass from the cabinet. 

Bucky would, in all honesty, be lying again if he said the fact that somebody else was making decisions for him didn't set him on edge. He was given a choice, first, at least, a choice he could respond to. 

Sam set the glass next to where Bucky was still on the countertop. 

"Drink. You need it for your red blood cells to-" Sam started. 

Bucky cut him off by taking the glass in his metal arm and downing it in one gulp. 

Again, it registered in his brain as an order, and he was horrified with himself once he realized that he was still under such a trance. 

Shuri had removed the trigger words, yes, but she couldn't remove his occasional impulses. She removed a part of the conditioning, but not everything. 

"Alright, that's good." Sam said, cautiously as he finally caught on to why Bucky was acting the way he was. 

"Do you want to go to bed or watch TV?" Sam asked, and Bucky's eyes flashed up to meet Sam's glaze. 

"TV." Bucky replied, voice flat, but he felt... better, slightly at least. The choice, even an easy choice with only two answers, made that feeling of control wash over him again.  
He was in control. They were not. 

He was in control. 

"Alright, I'll go and get a change of clothes. I think your red sweater is in the dryer, you want me to get it?" Sam offered as Bucky made the small jump down from the countertop. 

"...yeah, that'd be nice." 

He was in control. 

He could make his own decisions. 

It wasn't his decision to kill Riley. 

If he just kept repeating it, he'd believe it. 

Bucky made his way, staggering, to the couch that was facing the TV. He sat down, slowly, aware his shirt and pants were still bloody, but at least it was dried so it couldn't stain the couch. 

Sam came back sooner than Bucky expected in sweatpants and a fleece pj shirt, and handed Bucky the sweater and his own pair of sweatpants. 

"I'm gonna go change." Bucky said, grabbing the clothes and heading off towards his room. 

"Could you leave the door unlocked?" Sam asked. He seemed hesitant about even letting Bucky out of his sight for a second, which made sense, so Bucky decided the least he could do was be quick and keep it unlocked.  
But he had a choice- the way it was phrased wasn't an order, it was a request. 

He changed as fast as he could, hissing a bit as the sweater caught on the bandages for a moment before letting go. 

"What movie do you want to watch?" Sam was in the kitchen pantry grabbing some chips when Bucky came out of the bedroom. 

"Something... happy? Please?" Bucky replied, and he imagined the puppy-dog eyes Steve had told him he had clicked into place unintentionally. 

"You don't have to ask me twice." Sam shot him a smile as he sat down on the couch. 

Bucky joined him, getting probably a little too close. 

"Aren't you mad that I killed your friend?" Bucky asked as Sam began scrolling on various streaming services for a happy movie. 

"Huh?" Sam said, giving him a side eye. 

"You heard me, before. I killed Riley." Bucky repeated, heart pounding in his chest so loud Bucky swore it was the only thing he could hear.

"It would be different if it had been your decision." Sam said, simply, picking a movie Bucky didn't recognize and didn't care to learn what it was about. 

"But maybe if I-" Bucky started, trying to come up with anything so Sam will just blame him for what he did. He deserved it. 

"Nope." Sam cut him off. "Look, I know you're feeling really bad about this, as evident by…" Sam motioned vaguely to Bucky's bandaged arm. "...but you gotta understand, I've been coping with Riley's death for years. I'm not saying I expected The Winter Soldier to be the one who did it, but it's okay. It wasn't you." Sam said, the movie that was starting being drowned out by their conversation. 

"Aren't you scared?" He said. Bucky was so used to people being scared of him, especially those who'd lost loved ones to his assassinations. 

"Why would I be scared? I know you'd never hurt me. And you can't be triggered anymore." Sam was still acting incredibly calm for the situation. He'd just found out the identify of his best friend's killer and his roommate tried to commit suicide, which didn't usually inspire "calm" in a person. 

"But...what if I do get triggered again?" Bucky asked, voice shaking. He knew, logically, it couldn't happen. The words were removed, and it took twenty years for then to be fully implemented in the first place. 

"We'll cross that bridge if we get to it." Sam replied.

Thoughts were still swirling in Bucky's head, and he feared he'd get lost in then. 

He focused on the movie, still having no clue what it was about, but there was a cute dog in it. 

Eventually, Bucky ended up with his head on Sam's shoulder, Sam's arm wrapped around Bucky, and both of them fast asleep. 

He was going to be okay. 

They were going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cartersleia)


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